


Lost at Sea

by blancafic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Perthshire Cottage, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancafic/pseuds/blancafic
Summary: A post-Season 5 AU in which no one has considered waking up the spare Fitz frozen in space and Jemma has to deal with the grief of losing her husband. Until she doesn't.





	Lost at Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially started to fill the prompt "Presumed Dead" from the MCU Kink Bingo challenge, but I didn't finish before the deadline. Oh well. I thought I'd post it anyway, just before we head into Season 6 and everything goes off the rails again. 
> 
> My enduring thanks to my excellent friend and beta LibbyWeasley for her constant support and making sense of my words.

Jemma set her suitcase down and took one last look around the Lighthouse. It had never felt like home. Not really. Not like the base, or the Bus, or even the Zephyr. They'd been here such a short time. But it felt like they'd lived a lifetime in a matter of days. On every floor, down every corridor, there were memories. Some of them were good, some horrifying, and they all led back to Fitz.

She'd heard a quote about grief once, that it was like standing with your back to the ocean. That was a good way to describe it, she thought. She'd be going about her business, working in the lab or making tea, as if everything was normal -- as if she hadn't had to give up her own personal world to save the larger one -- and she would come across a stack of notes in his handwriting, or one of his old mugs, and _whoosh_. It knocked the wind right out of her every time.

Two nights ago she’d climbed to the top of the Lighthouse and looked out, a blanket wrapped around her as the cold wind whipped at her hair. She felt like she was in a scene from a gothic romance novel, one of those forlorn wives whose husbands were lost at sea. Sometimes she imagined he was still floating out there somewhere, trying to get back to her. But such thoughts only made it harder to accept the truth that he was really, truly gone. 

She hated becoming the embodiment of the widow cliché, but she couldn’t help it. She'd been half of a partnership for so long -- for all of her adult life -- she didn't know how to continue on by herself. Without Fitz there was no Fitz-Simmons. It would be just Simmons from now on, and she wasn't much help to anyone in her current state. S.H.I.E.L.D. would carry on here in this place, growing and strengthening under Mack's steady guidance, but she wouldn't. She couldn’t. Not when so much here reminded her of everything they had been.

It wasn't until she looked down and saw the dark spots on her shirt that she realized she'd been crying. She cried so often these days it was becoming an autonomic reflex. Like the beating of her heart, she barely noticed it anymore. She wiped her face with her hands, took a deep breath, and picked up her suitcase with renewed determination. It was time to leave it all behind. Maybe a change of scenery would do her some good.

The rest of the team would be waiting for her aboard the Zephyr. They were supposed to be having a retirement party for Coulson, but no one felt like celebrating. With Fitz gone and Coulson's borrowed time rapidly running out, the whole affair felt more like a memorial service than a joyful sendoff. She toasted with the rest of them and cried some more -- she never seemed to run out of tears -- but at least she wasn't alone this time.

They said their goodbyes to Coulson and dropped him and Agent May off in Tahiti before continuing on to England. One last trip around the world. She tried to sleep periodically in one of the pull-down bunks, but couldn't manage it. How could she when she was surrounded by the tangible evidence of her late husband's genius? He'd created some amazing things in his lifetime, but the Zephyr always had a special place of pride in his heart. She was grateful to it for keeping him from going completely off the rails while she was trapped on Maveth. Those trying months had been their longest period of separation until . . . well, until now. And there it was, another wave crashing over her shoulder. _Whoosh_.

Her parents were happy to see her, if a bit overwhelmed by all the news she had to share. She didn't tell them everything, of course. But she told them enough. They knew she'd had to go underground with her team while they worked on clearing their names. She explained how she and Fitz had been married in a small, private ceremony. Her mum had fawned over the ring for a good ten minutes, during which Jemma had miraculously held back her tears. She also had to break the news that he'd died heroically in the line of duty not long after. His own mother didn’t even know that yet. When she was feeling up to it she was to make the trip to Glasgow herself and complete her last mission as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

To their credit, her mum and dad let her wallow in her childhood bedroom for a few days before trying to get her to come downstairs and eat a meal with them at the table. They hadn't changed a single thing in her old room since she'd left for the Academy. Under different circumstances she'd have felt weird about them leaving it untouched, like some sort of shrine to a girl who no longer existed, but now she was grateful that the place was frozen in time, a time before she'd met Fitz. It was easier to forget here, if even for just a few minutes. She didn't see him everywhere she looked. The clever, driven, buoyant girl, who used to live here would be so disappointed if she could see herself now, falling apart over a man. But that man took a piece of her with him when he died, and she felt empty without it. 

The grief was inescapable, it turned out, no matter how far she ran. 

Jemma had been home for almost a week when the messenger arrived. She was sitting on the sofa with her dad, reading a book while he watched Newshour and her mum prepared dinner in the kitchen. She'd been venturing out of her room for longer periods of time each day, but still wasn't ready to participate in conversation. She had yet to leave the house. Her parents treated her like a scared animal, liable to scurry back to the shelter of her room at the slightest provocation. They weren't too far off. Fortunately, quiet evenings were the routine in the Simmons household. Which made the ringing of the doorbell seem especially loud.

Jemma set her book down. "Are you expecting company?" she asked her father, trying and failing to tamp down her nerves. _You can take the agent out of S.H.I.E.L.D. . . ._ she thought mirthlessly.

"Who's at the door?" her mother called from the kitchen.

"I don't know. Haven't opened it yet, have I?" her father called back.

Her mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "What good are you, then?" she teased. 

“Oh, go on.” Her father laughed as her mum threatened to smack the towel at him. The entire exchange made Jemma's heart ache.

The visitor handed her mother a letter and a handheld device to sign for it. She thanked him as she closed the door, and Jemma felt the breath she’d been holding leave her in a rush.

"It's for you, dear," her mum said, handing the envelope to Jemma. The sender appeared to be a legal firm in Glasgow. She didn't recognize the name. Her parents watched her with careful eyes, ready to provide support if need be, as she tore open the letter. Inside, she found a single document with no cover letter attached or any indication of who had sent it. It was the deed to a cottage in Perthshire. With her name on it. At the bottom of the envelope there was a key.

This was Fitz's doing. It had to be. Had he arranged it at some point before his death? When had he found the time? Had this been in the works for a while? Before their trip to the future? Before the Framework? And why wasn't there any explanation with it?

Her mum patted her hand. Her dad put his arm around her shoulders. But the strange thing was, she didn't feel like she needed the comfort. This sweet, posthumous gesture should have reduced her to a quivering mess, but for some reason it didn't. She wasn't going to break down. She was fine. For the first time since she'd heard the devastating news from Mack that day in the med bay, she truly believed she would be okay. 

"I have to go," she blurted out.

Jemma's parents looked at her like she'd just announced she was pregnant with an alien baby. But she didn't have time to explain. And even if she did, she wasn't sure that she could. Still clutching the envelope in her hand, she rushed up the stairs, grabbed her coat and bag, and was back at the door in under a minute.

"Dad, can I borrow the car?" she asked, still breathless from darting up and down the stairs.

All he could do was nod as she fished the keys out of the bowl on the little wooden stand by the door. She knew she deserved the stares her parents were giving her, but she hoped they'd simply write her behavior off as the madness of a grieving widow. Maybe that's what it was. Or maybe there was something more. Something just out of reach, a puzzle her mind was working on in the background of her consciousness. In her experience she'd found it was best to just let it work without any prodding.

It was a five-hour drive to Perthshire from Sheffield. She stopped twice on the way, once to fill up the car with petrol and once to acquire fuel for herself. It had been ages since she'd had proper fish and chips, and though it wasn’t the healthiest choice for a meal, she savored the taste of home before getting back on the road. The sun set over the hills as she drove, bathing the scenery in golden light. But it wasn't as clear or as beautiful as the picture that was beginning form in her mind as she closed in on her destination and the answers she sought.

The sky was inky black and filled with stars by the time she arrived at the address on the deed. There were no lights to illuminate the path to the front door, but the moon was nearly full, and bright enough that she was able to make her way across the cobblestones with ease. The key slipped easily into the lock and she stepped into the darkness inside, not knowing what she expected to find. It smelled of wood and spice, far from the dank, musty odor of a neglected residence. She reached into her bag and felt for the ICER she'd tucked away, just in case. With her other hand she felt for the light switch. As soon as she flicked it on the little entryway lit up, revealing a flight of stairs in front of her, an arched opening to her left leading into another room, and a closed door at the end of the hall. She tried the room on the left first.

This room proved to be a cozy little sitting room with a fireplace. She really wanted to try it out, but she was too exhausted to attempt it. The wheat-colored sofa on the front wall beneath the window looked plush and inviting. Maybe she would have a bit of a kip before she did any more exploring. She turned off the lights and set down her bag on the floor. Sinking down into the cushions, she shrugged out of her coat and made use of it as a makeshift blanket. A few minutes of blissful sleep was all she needed. Just a few minutes.

She awoke with a start to the sound of someone jiggling the door handle. Grabbing her phone from her bag, she checked the time: 11:52. She'd been asleep for nearly an hour. She heard the doorknob twist. Damn, she'd forgotten to lock it. How could she have been so careless? Physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion was no excuse. The ICER was still in her bag, so she took it out, gripping it with both hands as she crept towards the door. The lights were still off, giving her already adjusted eyes an advantage. She took aim, preparing to fire at the intruder if they proved to be a threat.

The door creaked open slowly. The figure didn't move into the cottage right away, but stood there in the doorway, silhouetted in the moonlight, hands raised in submission. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, understanding what her head still couldn’t quite comprehend. She'd know that silhouette anywhere. But it was impossible. Unless she was still asleep on the sofa and this was all a dream.

"Jemma? It's me," said the figure. And she knew she had to be dreaming, because he sounded exactly like her dead husband. "You can put down the ICER."

She lowered the gun, shaking her head. "No. No, this is a dream. You're not here."

"I am here. This is real." Smoothly, without any sudden movements, he reached for the light switch and turned it on. "See?"

"No," she said again, her voice raw with emotion. Her cheeks were wet and her nose was running. It didn't feel like a dream. But what other explanation could there be? "You were gone. I examined your . . . I buried you."

"I know," he said. She could hear his boundless compassion in those two words. There was an apology in his eyes. He turned around and closed the front door, then took a few tentative steps toward her. "And I am so, so sorry. That must have been awful.” 

He was close enough that she could see him shudder and knew he must be picturing what it would have been like for him if their roles had been reversed. 

On the outside she was a statue, frozen in place, but inside a storm was brewing. Growing bolder, he took another step and reached out for her hand. She gave it to him automatically, her body moving of its own accord. Then he led her to the sitting room and sat down on the sofa next to her.

"I know you're confused and you must have loads of questions, but I have to say," he lowered his chin to his chest, a small smile playing on his lips, "it is _really_ good to see you, Jemma. I've missed you so much."

His smile seemed to break the spell over her and she found her words again. "How . . . how are you here?" she said, daring to believe it.

"Oh, I’ve come back from the dead to haunt you for all eternity," he offered nonchalantly. She leveled him with an incredulous stare that made him shake with laughter. She knew what he was doing -- trying to diffuse the awkwardness with humor. The familiar coping mechanism convinced her all the more that he was real. So she played along.

“I’m confused. Are you meant to be a zombie or a ghost?”

"Neither. I just wanted to see your reaction."

"Ah. Hope I didn't disappoint." She hoped the quivering insecurity in her voice wasn’t too obvious.

"Not in the slightest." The unabashed adoration in his eyes seeped into her bloodstream, filling up the empty spaces in her heart. He leaned in closer, as if he was about to kiss her, then he seemed to catch himself and cleared his throat, sitting up straighter.

"Fitz, I love you, but if you don't tell me what the hell is going on, I swear--"

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands, just as he had in the doorway earlier. "You know how I managed to get to the future right? The cryo chamber?"

"Of course. You should be out there right now orbiting--" She slowed down as the realization dawned on her. "Except you're not are you?"

"Now you're catching on."

"But that's a paradox. A broken causal loop. If you're awake now in the present, how can you save us in the future?"

"Time doesn't work like that."

"But you said--"

"I know what I said, but you changed it, didn't you? That future won't happen in this timeline."

"So there are multiple timelines, multiple universes."

"Exactly. The future you saw, the one where a version of me saved you, is in your past. It can't be changed. But the future of this timeline, the one we're both in now, will be entirely different."

"You know what? I’m sick of arguing theories of time travel. I don’t care anymore. All that matters is that you're alive, Fitz. You’re here!"

"I am."

"Then why aren't you kissing me?"

His soft smile spread wider as he shook his head. “I have no bloody idea.”

They leaned in at the same time, meeting in the middle. There was a pause as they stared at each other for a long moment. She studied every feature of his face, and he seemed to be doing the same. They were mirror versions of each other, running hands over cheeks and necks and hair, letting go of the fading memories they’d been clinging to in favor of the reality now in front of them. Her eyes stung in a way she’d become accustomed to, but this time they were joyful tears. This time he was there to wipe them away.

She couldn’t say how long it was before their lips finally met. She tasted the salt from her tears, or maybe they were his. There was no way to know. But beneath that, he tasted the same as he always had. He kissed her gently and reverently, like she was the most precious thing in the universe. She made sure he knew she felt the same. Oh, how she’d missed this perfect bliss. He traced the contours of her mouth, relearning the terrain with alternating pressure and pace. Hard and soft. Hurried and leisurely. Her little moans and sighs guided him along the way.

His hands smoothed down her arms until he was holding both of her hands. Then something drew his focus from their kiss and he moved away, sucking on her bottom lip as he pulled back. He looked down at her left hand, his thumb tracing the ring she still wore.

She fought the urge to pull her hand back, trying to gauge his reaction. For once she couldn’t fathom what was going on inside his head, but he didn’t seem surprised to see it.

“Daisy told me what happened. Everything.” The haunted look that shadowed his eyes gave away just how much he knew. They’d have to discuss that too at some point, but not tonight.

“You’ve seen Daisy? Funny how she didn’t think the fact of you not being dead was worthy of a phone call. Or a text message at the very least.”

“She wanted to, but I made her promise not to say anything until I saw you,” He looked up from the ring, though his thumb continued stroking the cool metal band. “I bought this place last year, when we started talking about moving in together. But then I couldn’t find the right time to tell you and, well, you know how it’s been. One crisis after another. I sent you the deed hoping you’d come here. Didn’t think it would be so soon, though. I was planning to be here when you arrived, but as usual, you were way ahead of me.”

He let out a small laugh. She wanted to hear more of it. Every day for the rest of her life.

“I know it sounds strange, but I think, on some level, I knew,” she said. “And then, when I saw the deed . . . I didn’t want to let myself hope, but I did anyway. We will always find our way back to each other, won’t we?”

“Always,” he agreed. 

He leaned in again toward her, this time wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. All her feelings of loss and longing escaped in a sigh as she squeezed him back. She felt him kiss the top of her head and she snuggled further into him, her cheek resting comfortably on his chest. Right where it belonged. She listened to the miraculous sound of his heart beating, steady and strong. His scent surrounded her. She was home.

After some time -- it could have been a few minutes or an hour, she’d lost track -- she lifted her head and caught him staring at her, his eyes as dark and vast as the night sky. “We’ve got a lot to discuss,” she whispered. She didn’t really want to disturb this perfect moment, but it felt necessary.

“Sounds about right for us.”

“Could we put it off for a bit, though? I don't feel much like moving from this spot.”

To her disappointment, he let her go and leaned back to look at her. She felt a chill at the loss of contact, but the glimmer in his eye warmed her in an entirely different way. He tucked a strand of loose hair around her ear. “I have a better idea. How about we go upstairs and not talk about it there?”

She smiled, feeling the unused muscles in her cheeks straining. Standing up, he offered her his hand and tilted his head toward the stairs. She took it and let him lead her again, but just as they reached the landing, she stopped.

“Wait. _Multiverse_. I just thought of something.”

“What?” he said, curiosity piqued. He'd always enjoyed watching her work things out.

“If alternate future timelines continue to exist when we make changes in the present, he might still be out there too.”

“Who?”

“Deke!”

“Who’s Deke?”

“Daisy didn’t tell you?” He shook his head. 

She wasn’t surprised, actually. This version of Fitz had enough to process already without adding that to the list. And besides, they’d all figured Deke had faded out of existence when they broke the loop. But if everything else they’d thought about how time worked was wrong, they might be wrong about that too. 

“Come on,” she said. “I’ve got one more little bit of news to tell you.”

She took the lead up the stairs and he followed dutifully behind, grinning all the way. 

There was the sound of creaking floorboards and hushed whispers and then the cottage was still, with the kind of serenity that only comes in the middle of a moonlit night in the remote countryside. Until a jagged-edged voice resounded from upstairs, slicing through the perfect peace like a knife.

"Our _what_?!?!"

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where it's due: A bit of the time travel explanation is based on something I saw in a movie recently. ;D
> 
> I'm on tumblr @blancasplayground if you'd like to pop in and say hello sometime.


End file.
